Sam got home in one of his moods. All silent glares and sullen pouts. Dean didn't even try to talk to him. These moods started a couple years ago and Dean learned the hard way that talking got him nowhere. Sam dropped his bag on the kitchen table and flopped into a chair like the world hung from his shoulders. Dean rolled his eyes.
"Good day?" Dean asked.
Sam ignored him. "Did Dad call?"
Dean sighed and leaned back on the counter. "Yeah. Said it's gonna take a few more weeks to gank the bitch."
It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "Great."
"Why the long face, Sammy? Not liking Junior High? Did the lunch lady forget your cookie again?"
"Dean." Sam glared.
"What?" Dean asked. "You should be cheering, man! You're always bitching about staying places."
"I don't like this town."
"What's wrong with it?" Dean asked, confused. It's not much different from any other town in the middle of Bumbfuck, Nowhere. Dull and dead. Two very important attributes for laying low.
Sam shrugged, "Don't know. Just wigs me out."
Dean's eyebrows pressed together. Over the years Sam has gotten more and more twitchy. Like a live-wire hitting a bee hive. Dean remembers when Sam was four. Asking questions about everything under the blue moon and taking everything Dean said as gospel. Completely untroubled with the answers given to him. In Sam's mind, Dean knew all and all was good.
Dean can't recall when that changed. When Sam stopped being content with what Dean told him and started asking harder questions. When he started hating anything that didn't make perfect sense to his highly logical brain. Dean had to admit, he misses the easy question-and-answer of his youth. When Sam would just nod and flash his dimples whenever Dean told him 'Dad is fine' or 'Moving around all the time is the best kind of adventure'. Now, Sam jumps at any chance to argue and getting him to shut up and calm down gets harder everyday.
"Tell ya what, how about we skip Latin today and do a Die Hard marathon?" Dean tried suggesting. Any time Sam spent outside of that big head of his is a good thing.
Sam scrunched up his nose. Dean's positive that if Sam knew that expression made him look all of five years old, he'd freak. Or pout. Either way, it's a whole lot of pain in the ass. "What about Dad?"
"Do you see him around here?" Dean looked around in mock seriousness, "Hey! You hiding somewhere, old man?" A small smile slipped through Sam's standard bitch-face and Dean did a silent cheer. Twitchy or not, Dean prides himself in knowing how to make Sammy smile. "Come on, man, live a little!"
Dean couldn't hold back a grin at Sammy's nod. Sam's smile widened in response, making his dimples peak out and his eyes shine. "I'll make the popcorn." Sam said.
Two glorious, action packed hours later, Sammy's head fell against Dean's shoulder. Dean smiled softly and let himself wrap an arm around his sleeping little brother. At age twelve, Sammy hadn't really grown into his new height yet. All his muscles were stretched out to make room for the new bone length and that made everything about Sammy lanky. Not to mention clumsy. Dean can't say he liked the change all that much. It's just less cushion to protect all those vital organs when Sam inevitably falls down a flight of stairs.
Dean's pretty sure Dad feels the same way. Whenever he's around, he forces Sam to run just that bit faster. Makes him lift that much more weight. Makes him fight that much harder. As if he could personally see to it that genetics gives Sammy six inch thick skin and a ripped six-pack.
Sam grunted and rolled forward, making his head land in Dean's lap. Dean froze. Sammy hasn't lain like that since he was seven and even then just because he was sick with a dizzying fever. Slowly, Dean placed a hand on Sam's forehead. He didn't feel hotter than usual.
Dean studied the preteen in front of him. His hair is getting too long again. It's almost past his chin. Dad's gonna be on him to get it all chopped off soon. That'll be a fun conversation.
Growing pains are really hitting Sam hard this year. All the proportions are off. Hands and feet too big. Nose too pointy. Chin too sharp. Lips too thin. Sam's stuck pretty firmly in his awkward stage.
Dean chuckled. He brushed a stray hair out of Sammy's face. Since when did he get so big? Just yesterday, he was cheering Dean's name as Dean picked him up from kindergarten. Now, he's half way through middle school and ahead in nearly every subject.
Pride filled Dean's chest and he had to look away before he imploded. Instead, Dean stared at the TV blankly and tried to slow his breathing down so he wouldn't wake Sammy.
When Dean first heard that he would have a little brother, he didn't like the thought. Someone else getting Mom and Dad's attention. Someone else for Mom to tell bedtime stories to. Someone else for Dad to play catch with. He hated the idea that some crying baby was going to take anything away from him.
The first time they pulled Dean into Mom's lap and placed this pink, squishy thing into his arms, however, that all went away. After that, there wasn't a time that Dean's thoughts didn't have something to do with Sam. When Mom made Dean a sandwich, Dean would ask if Sam wanted some. When it was bath time for Sammy, Dean would ask to help. When it was bed time, Dean would wait for his parents to close the door to their bedroom before sneaking out to lay next to Sammy in his crib.
Sam used to pull at his hair and twist it around his chubby fingers until it knotted. He would fall asleep like that. Holding Dean in place until morning. When Mom got up to find him, she'd just smile like it's Christmas and help Dean untangle himself.
Without fail, every time, Sam woke up as soon as Dean got free. His big hazel globs staring up at him with such trust. Even at four years old, Dean knew Sam had complete control over him. That Sam was Dean's to protect.
After the second movie finished, Dean gently lifted Sam's head off his lap and scooted to the right so he could get up. The second his fingers let go, Sam's eyes opened.